


I'm a Murderer

by ACB1



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACB1/pseuds/ACB1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red tries to deal with Lizzie's memory recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm a Murderer

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little bit of something post-finale. I loved the finale and am excited for the next season. I am having some withdrawals now that my longer story, Trust Me, is done, so here is my therapy.

“I’m a murderer.” 

Her voice startled him. She had gone to bed hours before. He had been sitting alone out on the balcony for a long time, sipping drink after drink, staring into the black night, listening to the water beneath him. They were in Croatia. It was beautiful there; one of his favorite places, but tainted now. His business had a stronghold in the country, and he felt safe for the moment, safe enough to stay for a few days while he figured out what to do next. And, for the first time in decades, he wasn’t sure what to do next. 

Her discoveries had decimated him. He had failed her completely now, and yet, she was closer to him than ever, physically closer and emotionally. She was leaning on him, relying on him – as if he could still help her. She didn’t understand how much of him was invested in protecting her from the memories she had recovered; she didn’t quite understand what he had lost. 

He had still been coming to terms with all the fronts on which he had already failed her – with Tom, with his own entrance into her life because of Tom, the danger he had put her in again and again after surrendering himself to the FBI, with Berlin, with the Fulcrum, with the Cabal. And, now the final failure, the most devastating failure of all, his inability to protect her from herself, from her memories of that night, the night that changed everything. 

He couldn’t turn to her, couldn’t look at her right then. He remained in his chair facing the sea. “Yes, Lizzie,” he agreed, his voice rough and deep, as if from screaming long and loud. “You are. But, you are other things, too. You are a savior, a warrior, a survivor, a loyal friend, a kind and gentle person.”

“I’m a murderer. Always have been. I just didn’t know it,” she said from behind him, her voice devoid of emotion. She didn’t try to move around to face him; he knew she didn’t need to see him to know what her words were doing to him. The truth was painful. For both of them. 

“Knowing it doesn’t change all the other things, Lizzie. They are still true, too,” he said, taking a deep sip from his glass. 

“Thank you for trying to protect me, Red. Thank you for giving me a chance,” she said. He felt her hand touch his shoulder. She squeezed gently. He closed his eyes at her touch, taking a measure of comfort in her kindness towards him if not her words. He feared her words and what they meant. He feared her acceptance of what she had discovered, of where that would lead her, them. 

He finally turned around a moment after her hand left him, but she was already gone. 

He had gained her thanks, her understanding, her unsolicited touch, but at what expense? 

After the shooting, she had slept on his shoulder in the van all the way to the private airport, her warm weight solid against him. Her new knowledge, revealed, amplified and echoed by her earlier action, the killing of Tom Connelly, had exhausted her. And after, on the long plane ride, it kept her silent. She was in shock; he knew that, but so was he. And, for the first time in so many years, he found himself unable to help her. He was at a loss. Defeated. He knew how to get her away, to protect her physically, but after that he was raw, without pretense, without platitudes, without the safety of her ignorance. Only truth remained. And, the truth was brutal. What innocence that had still existed for her was gone. She was like him now. The inevitability of that was forged in a fire 27 years ago; he just hadn’t been able to accept it. 

He got up and moved back into the villa. He wasn’t drunk enough; he didn’t think he ever would be. He couldn’t think how to move forward, and for the moment, he didn’t want to, he couldn’t. The lights were already turned off, and he moved toward his bedroom. He noticed her bedroom door, across from his, remained uncharacteristically open.

He couldn’t stop himself from looking in. She sat in the darkened room illuminated only by moonlight. She sat on the side of her bed with her hands resting in her lap, staring directly in front of her. She was wearing a nightgown of the purest white; beautiful and locally made, it made her look so innocent and pure, like an angel. And, he wanted to help her. He needed to be able to help her. He hesitated in front of her open doorway for a moment watching her before turning into his own room and closing the door behind him.

He wanted to help her, but he didn’t know if he was capable of it anymore. He mirrored her position, sitting on the side of his own bed, hands clasped. He winced thinking of her pain, her confusion, her fear, and his face contorting with anguish. After a moment, he shook his head. No. No. He stood up, opened his door, and went to her. She was still sitting as she had been minutes before. She seemed unaware of him as he entered her room. He sat down next to her, their legs and shoulders touching; he left no room between them. Then, he reached into her lap and grabbed one of her hands, lacing their fingers together, tightly, securely. He stared straight ahead, as she did. 

After a minute, she spoke, her voice thick with unshed tears, “On the ship where I held Tom, when it was all done, and you came and found me, I told you I didn’t know what was wrong with me. And, you said nothing, that nothing was wrong with me. But, you knew that wasn’t true. All this time you knew what was wrong. And, I was cruel to you. Again and again. And, you tried to tell me, to warn me, to help protect me from myself, but I didn’t listen. And, Tom? He’s not real. What I loved wasn’t real; I wanted it to be, but it isn’t. You told me everything I knew about myself was a lie, and I didn’t believe you, I didn’t … And, now … Tell me what to do, Red. Tell me what to do. Help me.”

“Give us time, Lizzie. Give us time to figure it all out,” he said, his voice carried soothing and melodic through the darkness. “Somehow we will. I won’t rest until we do.”

She squeezed his hand and placed her head on his shoulder, like she had days before in the van. So many years, he had provided for her, protected her, cared for her, and now she understood why, at least partly. There was more, and when she had time to deal with the biggest piece of her restored memory, there would be other things he would have to explain. But, for now, he would have to try to deal with this new reality: she knew she needed him and was asking for his help. She knew he was her sin-eater. So, no matter what he felt – his own personal demons and failures aside – he would have to step up and face this. And, he would have to find a way to help her face it, too. But, how?


End file.
